Page 19

L ondon was bustling with people and activity. It was a place that Darcy both loved and hated. He loved it for the culture that could be found in almost every corner of the city. Music, plays, books, lectures, sports. London meant constant entertainment. At any time of the day, at any day of the week, somewhere, something was happening. It was completely different from the quaint, tranquil Derbyshire, which often felt more like a sleeping beast most of the year.

London, however, was also filled to its very brim with people, most of whom Darcy could not stand. London meant obligations, social events, and taking part in identically banal conversations almost every day until he felt like he wanted to pull his hair out. There was not a moment of peace, not a second of silence. Every time Darcy came to London, he came with a date of departure already planned in his head.

Except for this one occasion.

This time, there was little apprehension for the multitude of events he would no doubt have to attend in Town. Darcy was determined to follow Elizabeth to every dinner and soiree and dance, to stay by her side for as much of it as would be allowed, and to take pleasure from her company and her conversation to soothe his inevitable irritation towards the rest of the society. It would be her first season, but he was confident that she would fare much better against the hubbub of le bon ton than he did even now with almost ten years of exposure under his belt.

But, before anything else, he ought to meet with her guardian. There was no doubt in him that Elizabeth would be the debutant of the season the day she was introduced to society. Gentlemen would flock to her the moment she even glanced at them. As confident as Darcy was in his own pedigree, he was not about to take any chances. Meeting her in Hertfordshire before her presence was widely known to the rest of the world was a stroke of unprecedented luck. He intended to tie them to each other for the rest of their lives before anyone else could interfere.

Intending to put his best foot forward in the upcoming meeting, Darcy dressed his most intimidating. Black was a gentleman’s best colour, his father always used to say, and a well-tailored coat was the best weapon in his arsenal. Like any other of his father’s teachings, Darcy had retained the advice in his heart. It was starting to come into use more often now as he grew older. Darcy could see how his attire commanded a certain respect from people. It was a subtle, yet effective reminder of his rank and prestige — rather like how Richard’s ceremonial sword often tended to keep the more toadying members of the population at a distance despite being only for appearances.

Darcy had no intention to frighten Elizabeth’s family into giving him their consent, but he would certainly not mind if they did feel a tad bit pressured into doing so. Once ready, he descended downstairs into the entry hall with hasty steps, only coming to a halt when the butler opened the main door, granting entry to his cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam,

“Richard!” Darcy greeted, surprised. The knocker on his door was down. No one ought to have known yet that he was in London.

“Darcy!” Richard smirked, “Going somewhere?”

“None of your business.” Darcy replied directly, “Come by later, Richard. I am busy this afternoon.”

“Oh now, do not forsake me, cousin! I am drowning in ennui, and you are my only hope for salvation!”

Darcy looked at his cousin, his irritation whole and visible, “Am I your monkey?”

“It would be more appropriate to say I am yours, considering it is usually I who is at your beck and call.”

Darcy sighed, “Richard-”

“Have I not promised to go with you to Kent this upcoming easter? A pledge of that magnitude ought to be repaid, do you not think so?” Darcy wavered, for he knew only the truest of companions would ever agree to accompany a man to a dragon’s den, and his aunt’s residence could not be said to be anything less. Richard noted the slight hesitation, and jumped at it, “Come now! I promise to not get in the way of your engagements. What could be so very confidential that you cannot tell your one and only cousin about it?”

“You are hardly my only cousin.” Darcy said, but he did understand what Richard meant. From their infancy, they had been the best of friends, and despite the vast difference in their walk of life, their friendship had never dwindled. He had no reason to keep this from his cousin, “I am on my way to ask for a guardian’s consent to marry his daughter.”

Richard raised a brow, looking more surprised than Darcy thought was appropriate, “Has mother finally worn you down? Which unfortunate lady has she thrust upon you?”

Darcy rolled his eyes, “She has done no such thing.” Clearing his throat, he walked closer to his cousin, for admitting it to anyone except the lady herself was a little embarrassing still, “I have fallen in love.”

Richard laughed, then stopped as abruptly as he had begun, when Darcy did not join him, “You are serious.”

“Yes.”

“You are not pulling my leg?”

“No.”

“You have fallen in love?”

Darcy rolled his eyes, “Yes.”

“With a living, breathing creature? You have spoken with a woman? In more than just grunts and stares?”

Darcy scowled at his cousin, “You make me sound like a caveman.”

“Not a caveman, per se. More like an ogre.”

Darcy scoffed, “Goodbye, Richard.” He started towards the door,

“Wait- wait!” Fitzwilliam placed a hand on his cousin’s shoulder, “I see you are in no mood for my charming little witticisms today. I shall stop at once. Now tell me, who is this magical being that has managed to ensnare you in her little love bubble?”

“A Miss Elizabeth Braxton.”

Richard tilted his head, eyes narrowed in contemplation, “The name does not ring a bell.”

“That is to be expected. She is to come out into society this season.”

His cousin raised a brow, “That young?”

Darcy shrugged, “She is nineteen. Your parents share a larger difference in age amongst them. So did mine.”

“And where did you meet this young Miss Elizabeth Braxton?”

Darcy sighed, then fished out his watch to see the time, “I am running late as it is. Join me in the carriage, I shall relate the whole of it to you.”

Elizabeth played with her buttered eggs, her mind less on her food and more on the man who was due to come today to ask for her hand. Beside her, at the head of the table, sat her grandfather, his face hidden behind a newspaper and his tea getting cold. Beside him, and right across from Elizabeth sat her grandmother, sipping at her cup of chocolate as she perused through the dozens of letters and social cards that had been presented to her. Elizabeth chewed on her lips. Already, she had procrastinated too long. It was time to break the news.

She cleared her throat.

Her grandpapa’s newspaper lowered onto the table. Her grandmother’s hands paused mid-movement. In an instant, she had the attention of the entire room. Elizabeth took a deep breath,

“There is something I need to inform both of you.” She said.

Her grandmother, Roseline Braxton, raised a sharp brow, “Yes?”

Elizabeth cleared her throat. She was not used to feeling so nervous when talking with her grandparents. But then again, never before had she fallen in love.

“I have met someone.”

Grandpapa’s tea cup clinked noisily against its saucer in the silence of the room.

“You have met someone, you say?” her grandmother repeated, “I assume you are talking about a particular gentleman. Otherwise, this news is rather underwhelming. We do send you to Hertfordshire every year in the hopes that you would meet new people and broaden your horizons.”

Elizabeth huffed, “Yes, a gentleman. A gentleman I would like to marry.”

“And does this gentleman feel differently?” Her grandfather asked. Elizabeth frowned, wondering why he would ask such a question,

“No, in fact, he has proposed.”

“Ha!” Lord Braxton grinned sarcastically, “The scoundrel has proposed to you but has not the courage to face me! I do not know what you were thinking Elizabeth, but you pleading his case on his behalf in this manner is doing him no favours in my eyes.”

His wife seemed to agree. Countess Braxton looked more than a little piqued as she observed her granddaughter, “I have to say, I agree. What kind of a coward cannot even muster the courage to seek the consent and blessing of his wife’s custodian?”

“You misunderstand!” Elizabeth rushed to explain, standing up from her seat in her haste, “He will come. It is just- I thought it best to… prepare you for the meeting. I was afraid you might be inclined to… object to the union otherwise.”

Lord Braxton, if it were possible, looked even more bewildered and unhappy, “What is wrong with him? Is he too old for you?”

Elizabeth did not say a word, but she shook her head. If only his age were the only issue!

“Is he a commoner?” Her grandmother asked,

She shook her head again,

“Is he poor?” His grandfather almost spat out, “Is he a poor, old commoner?”

Elizabeth, out of patience, huffed, and then managed to rush out, “He is Fitzwilliam Darcy!”

The room was deafeningly silent. Elizabeth fancied she could hear her own echo.

“Fitzwilliam Darcy!” Her grandmother gasped, her face so scandalized it was as if Elizabeth had sworn in front of her rather than just speaking the name of a well-respected gentleman.

Her grandfather stood, his newspaper crumpling in one hand. He threw it down on the table and scowled, “Impossible! This match is impossible! It shall never happen!” And then, he stormed out of the room.

Elizabeth groaned, slumping right back down in her chair, forgetting her manners for a moment and resting her throbbing head against the cool surface of the dining table. It was an expected enough response, but she still felt utterly defeated.

She hoped she could convince her grandpapa before Fitzwilliam’s arrival in the afternoon.

“You are nervous.” Colonel Fitzwilliam noted, staring at his cousin with some surprise, “Why in the heavens are you nervous?”

Darcy, perplexed himself, only sighed and shrugged. It was one thing to feel out of his element when he was proposing to Elizabeth. It was the sort of thing a man only does once in his life. But this was only an interview with another fellow gentleman. Darcy participated in a dozen of those on a daily basis. Moreover, it was with a man for whom Darcy cared none at all except that he was beloved to Elizabeth. Perhaps, it was that last bit that was responsible for his sweaty palms and fidgety feet.

“Darcy, not only are you one of the wealthiest men in our circles, but you are one of the rare few who are squeaky clean with nary a scandal under your belt.” The colonel spoke convincingly, placing his hand on his friend’s shoulder, “No man in his right man would refuse you anything.”

Astonishingly, Richard’s bizarre little pep talk seemed to work. Darcy nodded conclusively. His cousin was right. Even if one did not consider the money and the status that Darcy had not only maintained but also dramatically increased during his tenure as the master of Pemberley and the head of Darcy household, he had also taken painstaking measures to always make sure that his name and his reputation remained untainted. Unlike most of his peers, he had stayed away from the common vices of the wealthy. Perhaps, it had resulted in him becoming more isolated and detached than most would prefer, but it had also made him the society’s ideal son-in-law.

“You are right, of course.” Darcy exhaled, then, with another nod to his cousin, jumped out of the carriage just as it came to a stop. Behind him, he heard Richard descend as well, but Darcy’s attention was on the townhouse in front of him. The architecture of the residence was not all that much different from his own, except for the main door which was painted a bright, cherry red. Darcy straightened his cravat, smoothed down his coat, and had just begun to take a step towards the establishment when a heavy hand on his shoulder stopped him.

He half turned to look at Richard behind him, but his cousin’s gaze was stuck at the building in front of them, his face pale,

“Rich- I think you will have to wait outside. I do not think this is the kind of interview where a second would be appreciated.”

“Darcy, remember everything I just said to you about being squeaky clean and scandal-free?”

Darcy raised a brow, “What about it?”

“Disregard it all.”

Darcy frowned, turning to his cousin completely, “What the devil are you talking about?”

“That house- it belongs to the Braxtons.”

“I would assume so, seeing it's the address I received from Elizabeth.”

Richard looked uncomfortable as he turned to face him, “It belongs to Lord Victor Braxton, the Earl of Wrexham.”